


Immortal Castor

by JetnessAffliction



Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Birthday Challenge, Dylandy Brothers Birthday, Freeform, Kinkmeme, M/M, Sibling Incest, Twincest, archived from kinkmeme, dead dove do not eat, dreamscape, gundam 00 kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23011657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetnessAffliction/pseuds/JetnessAffliction
Summary: Lyle puts his brother to rest.
Relationships: Lyle Dylandy/Neil Dylandy, Neil Dylandy/Lyle Dylandy
Kudos: 5





	Immortal Castor

Lyle knows he's dreaming because the Pollux marker for Gemini is as big as his head right outside the ship's observation windows even though smoke is floating around him in familiar, thin swirls. That quirky old Ian had been right; only in his dreams. He laughs a little to himself then takes a long, savory drag on the cigarette that materializes between his lips. He holds the smoke in, hungry tongue absorbing the heat and rolling slowly over the filter, then he pulls the low pulsing ember from his lips and swallows because he remembers he fell asleep feeling empty.  
  
The next few puffs he lets free to fill up the small space with that heavy scent of tobacco, unreal and as gratifying as ever. It's been a handful of weeks since he boarded the ship as Jean-1 or Lockon Stratos or –whoever, really– and he almost tears up at how satisfying the burning in his chest feels, how blissfully nicotine-numb his nerves are becoming. This is peace, he thinks as the smoke recoils from his slow breathing and bounces gracefully off the glass. Blatantly shallow, self-serving, drug induced Lyle-Dylandy-style peace. Well, what else would dreams be any use for? He can see in his starry reflection that the cigarette burns but doesn't shrink, and that officially makes the scenario more orgasmic than any wet dream he swears he doesn't remember.  
  
With one arm on his hip and the other guiding the cigarette, Lyle's arms feel his again. His legs finally feel familiar as well, now that there's the comforting weight of full gravity as he leans slightly. His eyelids slide close and alone in the smoke, he finally feels himself, feels more calm each time he inhales though it does nothing to erase that empty feeling. When Lyle opens his eyes, a third arm pulls the cigarette out.  
  
“I could never take up smoking myself,” Neil tells him with a tired smile, looking exactly like he does in Sumeragi's photos, right down to that unfashionable vest and out of place leather gloves. “I think you look a lot better when you aren't playing around with this junk,” he says with a mildly challenging tone as his gloved fingers close around the cigarette, extinguishing it.  
  
Lyle isn't so surprised to see him, is even less surprised to see how identical they are in adulthood. Less surprised but not annoyed and more like.. He's not sure, really, but something is off when he looks at his brother. Or should be off. Lyle deliberately sweeps his own bangs aside before he leans in close to Neil's face and slowly exhales the smoke he'd been holding in, aiming just between his brother's eyes with a hint of attitude before he pulls back. He smirks so that he doesn't look too relieved when the smoke wafts around solid skin and hair instead of passes through.  
  
“You'd look kind of sexy smoking. Maybe as good as me,” Lyle says and reaches into his left pocket for a replacement. Just as he likes, it's stuffed with his favorite brand and the lighter that was discarded at the linear train port.  
  
Neil shakes his head with a sad sounding chuckle and leans back against the window, blocking out Pollux. Back lit by the glass and stars, he is like a surreal mirror image, one with the same body but dressed differently. Limbs in perfect proportion to his but moving differently. Though his eyes are just as empty. They sweep over Lyle with a distant look and Lyle's already got another one lit between his lips before he can counter. “What are you doing all the way out here, Lyle? You should be married or starting up a small business by now. Something peaceful and middle class like that.”

“Maybe I would be,” Lyle feels the smoke stirring up words, “if I were stupid or blind enough to accept the Federation Peace,” another exhale. “Didn't you know I'm not the family-man type? Well actually, you do know since we're the same.” He shrugs and looks down when he flicks ash toward the deck, “I'm just like you after all, Neil. Can't help it. Have to fix the world. Have to protect my own terrorist family first.”  
  
Neil suddenly closes in on Lyle, his hand chasing Lyle's lowered one until their arms align in perfect symmetry and a set of quick fingers uncurl the other as the cigarette drops to the floor, still smoking away. The dreamphysics becomes a double edged sword and Lyle's stomach drops to his toes. They had been so far apart for so long and Lyle's body reacts because the feeling rushes back sudden and unexpected, but not completely new. He remembers this feeling, the choking pressure emanating from deep in his chest, cured only by the knot of buried charges that start to spark through his veins, heating his blood from his brother's touch. He inhales the smoke drifting away in an exaggeratedly slow, controlled breaths to mask his unraveling inside. Neil's fingers curl around Lyle's strongly. The smoke burns sharply, stings so much and it has been So Long.  
  
“You don't think you’re out of your league now?” Neil says, his other hand reaching out to toy with the hair at Lyle’s neck. The leather brushes Lyle’s skin there, the barest hint of warmth under the layer as his fingers start threading through the soft strands, and Lyle forces himself to just breathe, to not give into the overwhelming urge to shake Neil off, break the image apart by shoving his brother him against the glass and finally force his ego into him, prove it exists somewhere. Neil starts to adjust Lyle's hair with nervous, careful attention, rearranging it those few centimeters off. When his fingers float upwards against Lyle's forehead to slide his bangs back into place the touch is light and consoling, but Lyle's eyes flicker damply, and he knows he is tugging on his brother's soul.  
  
“You're one to talk, Mr. Ghost,” Lyle throws back in disbelief, though his tone isn't anywhere near biting. The words sink in and Lyle suddenly wants to take them back, suddenly feels as tired as Neil looks, his reflection solid and persistent in a warm and breathing body instead of washed out in starry glass. Both of them are too tired of the facade. Of the cold words. Of the distance.  
  
Neil leans closer, displacing the smoke between them with a nervous breath, “Do you finally miss me, now that I'm a Ghost?” His voice is barely a whisper, shaky and restrained but his fingers curl harder and he pulls this time, actually _pulls_ , as if it's the last chance he'll have, as if he'll disappear forever from Lyle's world otherwise.  
  
“Lyle, don't reject me anymore. Not here, please, not here. Tell me the truth.”  
  
“Neil...” Lyle whispers back, his own restraint dissipating like the thin swirls of smoke when he realizes they both want the same thing. “You've always been a ghost to me. I've always missed you.”  
  
Lyle does the only thing that will stop him -stop them both- from dissolving into thin air. He reaches out with his free hand to mimic Neil's, pulls their bodies together and kisses his twin brother hard enough, deep enough, and honest enough to reclaim himself.

It's the catalyst, he-- no, they know, that sends them both back in time for a moment. Then Neil is holding Lyle's waist, hand almost melting into his brother and Lyle is wrapping an arm across Neil’s back, tangling their body heat and pressure. Neil is so warm and real and _right_. It’s pure twilight zone between each kiss, with flashes of memory and fantasy slipping in and out of his mind as their lips pres together hungrily. Images of things that have happened or should have happened between them; in that vast unfeeling world, inside Lyle's lonely dreams.  
  
Lyle grinds his body against his brothers and moans helplessly between Neil’s lips because it's so much better than smoking. He fills his lungs with the scent from memory and his tongue presses inside. Neil lets him search there, search for something more addicting and cloudy and wonderful than the dry taste of tobacco. With each warm, wet, seeking slide Lyle feels fuller and Neil feels more solid and they both feel they are _home_. They break apart, smiling and gasping and almost laughing at the realization.  
  
Suddenly the gravity in the room is too strong and Lyle is falling forward, falling through his brother – literally passing through– as if Neil's presence is being reduced to a flickering image and Lyle panics for a moment at the thought. He panics more when he stops falling and realizes he's facing the glass but neither of them are reflected there, just the cigarette near where their feet should be, shrinking, burning itself away now. “Neil!” He frantically tries to twist around but is stopped by those bare, familiar arms wrapping over his and holding fast.  
  
“I'm here!” Neil whispers quickly into his brother's ear, anchoring him more with the way his whole body presses against Lyle, overlaid, cradling himself as he cradles his brother. Neil's voice is desperate, drifting into Lyle and pressing, cradling in just the same way, all the way down, “If you want, I'll always be here. Let me in, Lyle! Just let me in!” The way he quietly shouts this plea confuses Lyle, until the hard length of Neil's erection, rocking against him so fiercely makes it so clear. Lyle's body gives in then, shivering at the feel of it, of those last few words.

“Yes!”  
  
They're both absolutely free then. Of their clothes, of their walls, and separate wills and everything in this torturous dream warps and slides into place. Neil plunges into Lyle and they both gasp at the feel, the first taste of it, of returning, and it has been So Long. They were originally were like this, weren't they? A single organism pulsating with that blazing power of life before fate forced them into separate bodies. No amount of time between them will change the fact that they were indistinguishable. They were One. So of course they would become identical even after so many years apart, even after Neil's death. Since the bombing, they were always the same person because they always had the same loneliness. They didn't understand it at the time so they tried to cure it in their own ways, away from each other. Of course they never could, so far apart from each other.  
  
Lyle braces against the glass, groaning and gasping his brother's name, his mind evaporating away in heated pulses and his body shaking and boneless but finally _full_. Finally. The glorious pleasure of it more peaceful than anything Lyle could have attained by himself. By the way Neil begins frantically thrusting, groping his hands over his brother's body to melt them closer, fuse them together, Lyle knows it is the same for Neil. It all falls into place and the words fall from their lips. They don't want it to end, they want this feeling to melt them away right here in this burning moment, a locked orbit of pulsing, white-hot pleasure that makes the stars flicker in front of Lyle's eyes and the smoke behind Neil dwindle away until–  
  
With a sad hiss, the cigarette on the floor extinguishes itself and Lyle suddenly lurches awake in his cabin aboard the Ptolemy2, sweating, coughing, hacking, and gasping for breath.  
  
He calls out for his brother in the darkness, choking on the name through the coughs, each one clearing the smoke he can still feel inside. He thinks he sees it for a split second, the thin veils of murky white wafting away, exorcised from his body. He breathes slowly then, easily, and falls back against the bed with a heavy but comforting feeling. He closes his eyes and just breathes until the tears and confusion retreats and he can smile. He's through with smoking. The sated feeling of that other ghost resting deep inside him leaves no room for it and he's happy with the thought. Ready finally, to take him in fully. To take on the name.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted March 4, 2009 for the Gundam 00 Kinkmeme, Dylandy Brothers birthday challenge. https://kinkmeme.livejournal.com/3608.html?thread=2392088#t2392088


End file.
